Palin Poetry

No, that’s not a misspelling of some random Bjork tune; it’s what the incoherent, rambling speech of Sarah Palin turned into once the immortal William Shatner got his paws on it. Behold:

From the full, delicious, transcript:

And getting up here I say it is the best road trip in America soaring through nature’s finest show. Denali, the great one, soaring under the midnight sun. And then the extremes. In the winter time it’s the frozen road that is competing with the view of ice fogged frigid beauty, the cold though, doesn’t it split the Cheechakos from the Sourdoughs? And then in the summertime such extreme summertime about a hundred and fifty degrees hotter than just some months ago, than just some months from now, with fireweed blooming along the frost heaves and merciless rivers that are rushing and carving and reminding us that here, Mother Nature wins. It is as throughout all Alaska that big wild good life teeming along the road that is north to the future. That is what we get to see every day. Now what the rest of America gets to see along with us is in this last frontier there is hope and opportunity and there is country pride.

And, topical as always, Vanity Fair has already published Palin’s notes for the historic speech.

Palin says Buh Bye

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Quote of the Day: On Bettie Page

Bettie Page mirror mirror

Just how much was she the mistress of desire, and how much a mere meat puppet?

We’ve stared at her photos for so many decades, looked into those eyes and perceived so many countless life-affirming fantasies. We’ve assigned to her superhuman attributes on the basis of a consistently and profoundly confidant photographic demeanor. Given the brutal facts of her post-pinup life, we’re left to wonder whether we can still sustain the precious illusion…

It takes very little introspection to arrive at one of the primary reasons for Bettie Page’s appeal. Her image, as silently projected through thousands of photos (and even a few hundred yards of film), creates a personal illusion for each and every one of us. The mystery is almost sacred. We have no idea who she is, yet each of us feels as though she’s a personal friend. We are convinced her smile is genuine. We are assured that her grimace is a put-on.


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Romance in the 21St Century

Here is the chanteuse of the century:

and here is the quote of the century:

In lieu of the “It’s Complicated” relationship status,
Facebook should go with “It’s Devastating.”

11:05 PM Jun 8th from web
evilbeet

Love is a Losing Game

For you I was a flame
Love is a losing game
Five story fire as you came
Love is a losing game

One I wish I never played
Oh what a mess we made
And now the final frame
Love is a losing game

Played out by the band
Love is a losing hand
More than I could stand
Love is a losing hand

Self professed… profound
Till the chips were down
…know you’re a gambling man
Love is a losing hand

Though I’m rather blind
Love is a fate resigned
Memories mar my mind
Love is a fate resigned

Over futile odds
And laughed at by the gods
And now the final frame
Love is a losing game

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L’amour N’est Rien

I could swear I’ve blogged this video before, but perhaps not. By this point in Blogathon, I’m doing a LOT of swearing, as you can imagine. Nearly halfway through and I’m four posts short. Time for some quickie YouTubes, methinks.

This one happens to be one of the most popular things on Twitter; every damn time I post it I get 300 new Followers, for reasons which will become obvious about the time Mylene Farmer here starts undoing the garter belt. Enjoy, and know that you can enjoy with a clear conscience, Farmer being somewhat renowned as a post-postfeminist in good standing (for details of which, click on her name and watch that video, Fuck them All).

Lyrics:

Love is nothing/ Mylene Farmer

Obsessed with the worst
And not very verbose
The least of my sighs
Turn metaphysical
I have in my heaven
Tons of stars
Hanging on my wings
And down falls the angel Gabriel

Obsessed with the worst
A little too physical
The desire to quiver
Is pharaonic
Fed up with asceticism
My life is wrapped in darkness
For me without the tongue
Wihtout sex I get weak

Love is nothing
When it’s politically correct
You like one another
You don’t even know when you hurt them
Love is nothing
When everything is sexually correct
You get bored
You yell for it to stop
Life is nothing
When it’s lukewarm
It consumes itself and shakes your blood
In cigarette ashes
Life is good
It’s made of honey
When it’s acid with dynamite
Those who love me, follow me

Obsessed with the worst
And not very verbose
The least of my sighs
Turn metaphysical
I have in my head
Tons of pirouettes
The leap of the angel
Doesn’t seem strange to me

Obsessed with the worst
And not very verbose
To share my laughs
Rather plutonic
I have in my sphere
A greenhouse effect
My blood’s boiling
I’m seething about everything

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The New James Bond: Abbott and Costello redo a classic


Have you ever wondered (and if so, were you sober enough to remember it the next morning) what the James Bond movies would be like if they starred, instead of Connery, Brosnan, et al hunkish cohorts, someone whose appeal was not simply the way they fill out a debonair DJ? Someone more cerebral…someone whose appeal is that romantic touchstone, “He makes me laugh”?

Someone like Abbott and Costello?

No, huh? Oh, FINE, here then. Don’t say I never did nuthin’ for ya.

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